Finding Our Common Humanity And Stepping Beyond False Barriers

Imagine walking out your door, not knowing if you will be attacked that day simply because you were born with non-white skin, or because you are devoted to your non-Christian religion, or you love someone the same sex as you. Try to imagine the level of your life-anxiety if you were hated simply because you had come to America from another country.
To fear the unknown is easy, but we don’t have to stay there. Every human being is valuable, and we are born with similar hopes and dreams: to build a life filled with love and meaning and some measure of success. We all need to be listened to, but people targeted today by a growing number of hate groups (https://www.splcenter.org/hate-map) are not often heard. Their life stories, often difficult in ways we can’t imagine, are not generally honored. They are clumped together, labeled criminals, mentally ill, users, and terrorists. By promoting these group labels, people become invisible as individuals. We can resist the movement toward intolerance by getting to know people from the vulnerable communities and helping in whatever ways we can. Tucson is called a Sanctuary City and according to Lynn Hourani and Hoda Gaber, it is.
“Tucson is, by and large, very inclusive of the Muslim community,” says Lynn Hourani, who came to the U.S. from England and is on the Board of Directors of the Islamic Center of Tucson (http://www.ictucson.org/). “It is easy to form alliances with the larger interfaith community—especially the Jewish community, which has reached out to us with support, and for unification. There are isolated incidents but, in general, Tucsonans are wonderful people.”
Hoda Gaber, a retired M.D. from Egypt, saw a big change in behavior after the November, 2016 election. “People—strangers—contacted us. ‘How can we help you? English tutoring for refugees? May we visit your mosque? Can we accompany you while you are shopping?’ People became more sympathetic to refugees and more willing to help them in any possible way. I can’t say enough about how wonderful Tucsonans are.”
“What you may not know,” Lynn says, “is that Muslims are part of the fabric of society in every walk of life, working, assisting, paying our taxes. My son had a motorcycle accident and one of the policemen who came was a Muslim. A nurse at the hospital was Muslim, his surgeon was Muslim. Being regularly served by Muslims is a thousand times more likely than being attacked by Muslim terrorists—yet some people call us all terrorists, which is unfair. Hoda and I, and many others, are working to build connections and communities that cross cultural and religious barriers.”
Hoda says that though they came to America originally for education, they have a duty to their fellow Americans to educate them about Muslims—to show that people whose religion is Islam are not terrorists, that they are no different than anyone else, that they have the same hopes and dreams that all Americans have. “After 9/11, people were skeptical of Muslims in general,” Hoda says. “A friend of mine heard someone say derogatory things about Muslims. She said, ‘Hold on, I know a Muslim family, and they are good people, so don’t you speak badly about Muslims in front of me.’”
In March 2017, the Islamic Center of Tucson was broken into, vandalized and desecrated. Copies of the Qu’ran were torn apart and thrown onto the prayer floor. This was frightening, but two members representing the Jewish community, Marty Johnson and Stephanie Roberts, established a GoFundMe account and together with the center’s fundraising efforts, the ICT raised $25,000 to replace the Qu’rans and install an up-to-date security system. The story of the break-in appeared in The Huffington Post and the center was inundated with messages of support and love, not only from Tucson and Arizona, but from every state and around the world. “This support was very important to us,” Lynn says. So much love poured into the center, the act meant to generate fear was completely undone.
Coping with being targeted, and healing the divide, are always on Lynn and Hoda’s minds and hearts. They especially worry about Muslim children, who are acutely aware that Islamophobia is all around them. “Children internalize their fears,” Lynn says. “If you ask them if everything is okay, they say it is, even if it isn’t. They want to belong. They live between two different cultures: Families practicing Islam at home and American schools and society.”
Hoda says that educating parents about what their children are going through is of great importance. “Helping the youth is our ongoing challenge,” Hoda added. “We work to educate Muslim parents to be supportive of their kids, to listen to them and not to panic over what they say, because if they do, their children will stop coming to them. Our faith has its limitations—at home, we raise our kids as Muslims, but they see drugs, dating, and sex in schools. We try to teach them [how to say no], and to have alternative activities available for them. African American Muslim girls are especially targeted—there are an infinite amount of sad stories from them. They are mocked by other kids and discriminated against even by teachers. Our children have to be really strong to be able to stand up for themselves.”
Adults, Lynn says, may not understand what it’s like for Muslim children to grow up as American citizens. “Our kids need to know how to interact with everyone, and it’s so important for parents to understand that these young people are working to find themselves and their place in American society. We are fortunate that our school is located next to an assisted living home. We worked together with the home to set up an inter-generational program. We get the young and the old together and the benefits for both are huge. Our children have developed a sense of belonging to the greater community because of this.”
Hoda is a member of the Noor Women’s Association, (www.nooraz.org), which helps refugees resettle in Tucson. “Refugees are trickling in and they arrive with nothing,” Hoda explains. “We visit the families and learn what they need to establish a home, along with the resettlement agencies. A Noor member stores up donations at her home until it’s time to deliver to families. We have frequent drives for most needed items. One family didn’t have a TV, which is essential to learn English. Another family needed a sewing machine. One mother was disabled and needed a washing machine for her large family. People volunteer to help us collect donations for these families. We also need volunteers to visit with them, to become someone they can turn to for support. And we need English tutors. Please call me (Hoda) at 520-909-0674 if you would like to help the refugees.”
Members of the Muslim community do have to be vigilant and aware of their surroundings. They need to have their phones ready to record whatever might happen. “I am Muslim. I wear a scarf,” Lynn says, “because of something inside me. It’s a spiritual thing. It is who I am, my way of life. Nobody asks me to wear my scarf, and I won’t let anybody pressure me to remove it. The spiritual aspect makes it all okay,” she explains, smiling. “I get so many compliments on my scarves and clothing. People say, “I love your scarf,” to show me support and I appreciate that kindness.”
To Lynn, life is a journey and we’re each put in a place where we have a job to do. Since English is her mother tongue, she feels particularly drawn to construct bridges across cultural divides, calling this work her responsibility and her passion. “I put myself out there. I know the culture. I speak the language. I know the political system. I push myself to be involved in many things in the Tucson community, to give the Muslim community a voice. It is my duty. And this has enriched my life because I’ve met amazing people, some who have become friends.”
These courageous women work every day to reveal and share in our common humanity, stepping beyond the false barriers of race, creed, country and religion. It is my honor to meet and write about them.
~Pam Bickell
Imagine walking out your door, not knowing if you will be attacked that day simply because you were born with non-white skin, or because you are devoted to your non-Christian religion, or you love someone the same sex as you. Try to imagine the level of your life-anxiety if you were hated simply because you had come to America from another country.
To fear the unknown is easy, but we don’t have to stay there. Every human being is valuable, and we are born with similar hopes and dreams: to build a life filled with love and meaning and some measure of success. We all need to be listened to, but people targeted today by a growing number of hate groups (https://www.splcenter.org/hate-map) are not often heard. Their life stories, often difficult in ways we can’t imagine, are not generally honored. They are clumped together, labeled criminals, mentally ill, users, and terrorists. By promoting these group labels, people become invisible as individuals. We can resist the movement toward intolerance by getting to know people from the vulnerable communities and helping in whatever ways we can. Tucson is called a Sanctuary City and according to Lynn Hourani and Hoda Gaber, it is.
“Tucson is, by and large, very inclusive of the Muslim community,” says Lynn Hourani, who came to the U.S. from England and is on the Board of Directors of the Islamic Center of Tucson (http://www.ictucson.org/). “It is easy to form alliances with the larger interfaith community—especially the Jewish community, which has reached out to us with support, and for unification. There are isolated incidents but, in general, Tucsonans are wonderful people.”
Hoda Gaber, a retired M.D. from Egypt, saw a big change in behavior after the November, 2016 election. “People—strangers—contacted us. ‘How can we help you? English tutoring for refugees? May we visit your mosque? Can we accompany you while you are shopping?’ People became more sympathetic to refugees and more willing to help them in any possible way. I can’t say enough about how wonderful Tucsonans are.”
“What you may not know,” Lynn says, “is that Muslims are part of the fabric of society in every walk of life, working, assisting, paying our taxes. My son had a motorcycle accident and one of the policemen who came was a Muslim. A nurse at the hospital was Muslim, his surgeon was Muslim. Being regularly served by Muslims is a thousand times more likely than being attacked by Muslim terrorists—yet some people call us all terrorists, which is unfair. Hoda and I, and many others, are working to build connections and communities that cross cultural and religious barriers.”
Hoda says that though they came to America originally for education, they have a duty to their fellow Americans to educate them about Muslims—to show that people whose religion is Islam are not terrorists, that they are no different than anyone else, that they have the same hopes and dreams that all Americans have. “After 9/11, people were skeptical of Muslims in general,” Hoda says. “A friend of mine heard someone say derogatory things about Muslims. She said, ‘Hold on, I know a Muslim family, and they are good people, so don’t you speak badly about Muslims in front of me.’”
In March 2017, the Islamic Center of Tucson was broken into, vandalized and desecrated. Copies of the Qu’ran were torn apart and thrown onto the prayer floor. This was frightening, but two members representing the Jewish community, Marty Johnson and Stephanie Roberts, established a GoFundMe account and together with the center’s fundraising efforts, the ICT raised $25,000 to replace the Qu’rans and install an up-to-date security system. The story of the break-in appeared in The Huffington Post and the center was inundated with messages of support and love, not only from Tucson and Arizona, but from every state and around the world. “This support was very important to us,” Lynn says. So much love poured into the center, the act meant to generate fear was completely undone.
Coping with being targeted, and healing the divide, are always on Lynn and Hoda’s minds and hearts. They especially worry about Muslim children, who are acutely aware that Islamophobia is all around them. “Children internalize their fears,” Lynn says. “If you ask them if everything is okay, they say it is, even if it isn’t. They want to belong. They live between two different cultures: Families practicing Islam at home and American schools and society.”
Hoda says that educating parents about what their children are going through is of great importance. “Helping the youth is our ongoing challenge,” Hoda added. “We work to educate Muslim parents to be supportive of their kids, to listen to them and not to panic over what they say, because if they do, their children will stop coming to them. Our faith has its limitations—at home, we raise our kids as Muslims, but they see drugs, dating, and sex in schools. We try to teach them [how to say no], and to have alternative activities available for them. African American Muslim girls are especially targeted—there are an infinite amount of sad stories from them. They are mocked by other kids and discriminated against even by teachers. Our children have to be really strong to be able to stand up for themselves.”
Adults, Lynn says, may not understand what it’s like for Muslim children to grow up as American citizens. “Our kids need to know how to interact with everyone, and it’s so important for parents to understand that these young people are working to find themselves and their place in American society. We are fortunate that our school is located next to an assisted living home. We worked together with the home to set up an inter-generational program. We get the young and the old together and the benefits for both are huge. Our children have developed a sense of belonging to the greater community because of this.”
Hoda is a member of the Noor Women’s Association, (www.nooraz.org), which helps refugees resettle in Tucson. “Refugees are trickling in and they arrive with nothing,” Hoda explains. “We visit the families and learn what they need to establish a home, along with the resettlement agencies. A Noor member stores up donations at her home until it’s time to deliver to families. We have frequent drives for most needed items. One family didn’t have a TV, which is essential to learn English. Another family needed a sewing machine. One mother was disabled and needed a washing machine for her large family. People volunteer to help us collect donations for these families. We also need volunteers to visit with them, to become someone they can turn to for support. And we need English tutors. Please call me (Hoda) at 520-909-0674 if you would like to help the refugees.”
Members of the Muslim community do have to be vigilant and aware of their surroundings. They need to have their phones ready to record whatever might happen. “I am Muslim. I wear a scarf,” Lynn says, “because of something inside me. It’s a spiritual thing. It is who I am, my way of life. Nobody asks me to wear my scarf, and I won’t let anybody pressure me to remove it. The spiritual aspect makes it all okay,” she explains, smiling. “I get so many compliments on my scarves and clothing. People say, “I love your scarf,” to show me support and I appreciate that kindness.”
To Lynn, life is a journey and we’re each put in a place where we have a job to do. Since English is her mother tongue, she feels particularly drawn to construct bridges across cultural divides, calling this work her responsibility and her passion. “I put myself out there. I know the culture. I speak the language. I know the political system. I push myself to be involved in many things in the Tucson community, to give the Muslim community a voice. It is my duty. And this has enriched my life because I’ve met amazing people, some who have become friends.”
These courageous women work every day to reveal and share in our common humanity, stepping beyond the false barriers of race, creed, country and religion. It is my honor to meet and write about them.
~Pam Bickell